


Demons and Angels

by uga_irish



Category: Hockey RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Character Death, Depression, Gen, Suicide Attempt, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-12 17:45:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/814247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uga_irish/pseuds/uga_irish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Disclaimer #1: This is one of the darkest fic's I have written. I do not mean to offend anyone with these mature topics.</p><p>Disclaimer #2: In no way does this relate to the Dan Brown novel of the similar title.</p><p>Disclaimer #3: I do not own characters involved. This is fiction and is therefore not real. If you do not like what is ridden here or makes you uncomfortable, then refrain from reading it by not clicking on the link. Remember, none of this ever happened! Hence, fiction! Some of the material present in this prompt is inappropriate for those under the age of 17, 18, or 21, depending upon legal jurisdiction. If you do not meet the age requirements, do not read the story.</p><p>Description: 2011 was a year to forget for Marian Gaborik. He battled injuries throughout the season, his production was down, the Rangers were eliminated in the first round of the playoffs, Derek Boogaard died in June, and then the Lokomotiv Yaroslavl plane crash in September took the lives of other friends, especially Pavol Demitra. This is one night on the brink for Marian, when all of those events catch up to him and he stands on the edge of ending his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Demons and Angels

The questions bombarded him from every direction when he returned from Slovakia. He had only been back in New York for two days after giving the eulogy at Pavol’s funeral when training camp started. Now, he was in the locker room being asked about he felt about the past 10 days. How stupid a question was that, Marian thought to himself. He had tried so hard to keep himself composed, but inside the foundation was crumbling.

When the questions had finally finished and Cally had come in and taken the focus of the reporters away from him, Marian quickly made his exit. When he made it home, he did not bother turning on the lights. He flung his bag to the floor, flopped on the couch, put his head in his hands, and cried. Never before had he felt so helpless so often. He ran through the events of the past six months in his head. His own injuries and the loss to the Capitals in the playoffs in April cycled quickly through the memories.

Then came the Friday night in May. Marian slowly lugged himself off the couch and walked slowly towards the liquor cabinet for the bottle of slivovica, the powerful alcohol that was a taste of his Slovakian home. He thought about hearing the news of Derek’s death as it trickled across the Atlantic to Slovakia. He remembered receiving nearly a dozen calls that finally woke him up before dawn on a Saturday morning. He was alone, in his room, just like he was now. Marian cried then; he began crying again.

The week that followed was a whirlwind. He flew to Saskatchewan for the funeral service. Sure, other members of the Wild and the Rangers were there to console him, but Derek was gone. Sure, on the ice, Derek protected Marian like an older brother did a younger brother in school, but off the ice they were close, as well. They drank together, appeared at charity outings together, and usually chirped back and forth via text messages and in person. When Derek came to play in New York, he lived a block away from him in Manhattan. Marian braced himself against the wall as he drank straight from the bottle of the Slovakian plum liquor. He missed the big man, his on-iced protector and off-ice friend and it was hitting him hard.

Marian cradled his bottle as he traipsed back to the couch and plopped back down. It tore at him again as he remembered his last conversation with Demo. Pavol was looking forward to the start of the KHL season and just as it was about to start, he was dead. Maja was a widow. Lucas and Zara were fatherless. Marian thought about Lucas, whom Marian had given a Wild Zamboni when he played with Pavol in Minnesota. Marian gulped from the bottle again, the burn down the throat leading to a warmth and lethargy throughout his body. Giving the eulogy at Demo’s service was gut-wrenching. The entire affair was a whirlwind. He tried to escape to the Trencin rinks to prepare for the season, but those were the same rinks where he skated with Pavol since he was 15. Sure, Demo was 7 years older than he was, but he was Gabby’s best friend. He drank again. It was Pavol whom he idolized, the player who had made it in the NHL from Slovakia from Trencin, the hometown they shared.

The demons of the past continued to pour through Marian’s head. The bottle of slivovica was more than half gone; Marian’s eyes were bleary from the combination of tears and alcohol. He pulled himself off the couch again and stumbled towards the window. As he opened the window and leaned, Marian swore he heard a voice.

“You would not want to see me if you do something this stupid.”

“Derek?” Marian asked to the empty room. He really had too much to drink.

“Get your head out of your ass and get away from the window,” the voice of Boogaard instructed Marian.

Marian shook his head and turned back towards the window for a second time. Obviously he had a lot to drink, but he had never heard voices when he drank. His hands braced against the frame of the window before a second voice with a thick accent penetrated Marian’s thoughts.

The voice rang out, “Neopovažuj sa.”[1]

Marian immediately stopped and turned away from the window. “Pavol, si so ty?”[2]

In a calmer tone, Pavol’s voice instructed Marian, “Nevzdávaj sa, priateľ môj.”[3]

Marian tried to explain, “Pavol, tak veľmi to bolí.”[4]

Pavol instructs him, “Hraj pre mňa hru, ktorú sme milovali. Budeme na ľade spolu.”[5]

Marian stands by the window and ponders the voices’ instructions. That was before Pavol spoke again, “Mladý bude k tebe vzhliadať, tak ako si ty vzhliadal ku mne. Podporuj ho. Veď ho. Buď jeho hrdina.”[6]

Marian nodded to no one in particular as he moved away from the window and returned to the couch. He placed the bottle on the table, sat back, closed his eyes, and took some deep breaths to regain his wits. As he sat in silence, there was a knock on the door. Marian grunted as he stood up and moved towards the door.

 

The knocking continued at the door. Marian told the guest that he was coming. When he opened the door, he saw a ragged looking Artem Anisimov. Artie looked up to Marian in glassy, bloodshot eyes, “Я не мог спать. Можем ли мы говорить?”[7]

Despite his Russian being a little rusty, Marian nodded. Artie was hurt by the plane crash, too. He was from Yaroslavl; he knew half the team. Marian knew this. As he led Artie to the kitchen, Marian could not help but think of the words of Pavol from just moments before. Someone would come looking for him and need him, just as Marian had needed Pavol. For the first time the entire night, he smiled as he remembered his fallen comrades.

 

[1] “Don’t you dare.”

[2] “Pavol, is that you?”

[3] “Do not give up, my friend.”

[4] “Pavol, it hurts so much.”

[5] “Play the game we loved for me. We will be together on the ice.”

[6] “A young one will look up to you just as you did to me. Support him. Guide him. Be his hero.”

[7] “I couldn’t sleep. Could we talk?”

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: The Russian quote in this fiction was translated using Google Translate. I apologize for the poor translation, as I neither speak nor write Russian. I would like to thank teleportation36 for translating my quotes from English to Slovak. I would also like to thank my beta, emeh, for her ideas and comments on this fiction.


End file.
